


Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned

by BDWC



Series: Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned [1]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Blasphemy for fun and profit, Confessional Booths are sexy, Doth Protest Too Much, I may actually be going to Hell for this one, M/M, Seduction, blowjob, my parents paid for Catholic school and this is what I do with that education, who can resist Papa III?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:50:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BDWC/pseuds/BDWC
Summary: Ghost is touring Italy and the Pope isn't exactly happy to see them there. Local priests and nuns are sent out to picket in front of their shows and one young priest catches Papa III's eye. He goes to track the man down and convince him to switch sides. Poor Father Copia gets way more than he bargained for when he hears the confessions of Papa Emeritus III.A smutty, sexy, utterly blasphemous one shot.





	Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned

**Author's Note:**

> This glorious, stupid band. I love it so much. Look at the things it makes me do. 
> 
> This idea would have never seen the light of day if it wasn't for my good friend dontshift2me. She gave me the push I needed to finish it and helped provide some of the end scene. I am in her debt. This one's for you, you good noodle.

Italy was just as beautiful as Papa III remembered. He watched it go by from the window of the tour bus, staring out at the scenery as it passed. He found himself surprised to admit he missed it a little. The Clergy had been cast out of Italy long ago and settled in far off Sweden. Papa III never realized he had been homesick. At the time he had been enraged but now, after so much time had passed, he allowed himself to feel a little sorry for himself. He'd have to pick up a little souvenir to take back, something to remind him of home. 

The scenery outside began to change, becoming more urban. Papa III grinned to himself. They were in Rome. He pressed his hands to the window like a child looking into a candy shop. How he had missed this place. He could already feel excitement building in him. It was going to be an amazing show tonight. The ghouls slowly roused themselves from their bunks, pulling on robes and masks, doing the complicated alchemy necessary make them appear human for a few hours. Papa III claimed the bathroom for a few moments, touching up his skull paint and adjusting his hair. He sighed at an unwelcome knock on the door. 

"Occupied." He said, raising his voice to be heard over the engine. 

"Boss, you have to see this." a ghoul said, tone worried. Papa III knitted his eyebrows together in concern and walked back out into the main part of the bus. The ghoul didn't need to tell him what was wrong. Papa III heard the prayers and the chanting from outside. He walked back over to his spot and looked out the window again. Outside was a large gathering of Catholic nuns and priests. Many of them held signs decrying the evils of Satanism and his band while others held rosaries and yelled out prayers. Papa III watched them owlishly before throwing back his head to laugh. 

"It seems the goodly Pope knows we're here. Hilarious. He sent his God Squad after us." the ghouls laughed and mocked the penitent protesters. Papa III took out his phone and took pictures, utterly delighted by this development. The one with the surprisingly decent drawing of his face and the word "SIN" was his favorite. He made it his new wallpaper. He turned to go back to making himself stage ready but paused as something caught his eye. 

That something was a priest, looking clearly uncomfortable with being part of the holy mob. He had beautiful hazel eyes and a smattering of freckles across his innocent, honest face. He had slightly unkempt sideburns and a small mustache to complete the look. It was surprisingly endearing and charming. There was a sign held halfheartedly against his shoulder talking about the sins of rock music and he looked utterly done with the proceedings. That was the look of a man who wanted dearly to be anywhere but there. He pulled at his crisp white priest's collar in the heat and glanced at the tour bus, his two hazel eyes happening to meet with Papa III's mismatched stare. The priest watched him, eyes wide. Papa III couldn't help but smile. Well, he did promise himself a souvenir...

***

The show that night was a roaring success. Papa III was in rare form from the earlier papal disturbance, full of piss and vinegar. Every song an arrow shot over the Vatican's ramparts. Every swivel of his hips and lewd gesture of his hands an offering to his beloved lord Lucifer. He was but a humble servant and this was how he worshiped his master. The crowd went utterly wild for him, screaming his name, chanting to Satan, and offering their hearts and souls to him. He drank deeply of their devotion, knowing he had converted so many new faithful in just one night. When he walked off stage for the final time, dripping sweat and limbs heavy from exhaustion, he still felt like he could go on for hours. The crowd gave him life. He stood backstage for a moment, listening as the crowd chanted "Come together/ Together as one" over and over again, the music slowly dying away. The ghouls patted themselves on the shoulders, pleased with another night of good work. They handed instruments off to techs before hitting the green room to gather their things and go to the bus.

Papa III showered and changed into a pair of purple silk pajama bottoms before climbing into his bunk. He closed the curtain and rested on his back, scrolling through his phone. He knew what to look for. A few quick Google searches later and he had found his priest and the church he presided over. Papa III looked at the picture of the priest on the church's website, wolfishly grinning to himself. This was not a man of God, he thought to himself. Beauty like that was wasted in the dusty, oppressive hands of Catholicism. Those lips were made for sin and those eyes deserved to be rolled back in pleasure. There was a much better place for a man like that and it happened to be in a small little abbey in Sweden... and in Papa III's bed. 

"Good thing tomorrow is a rest day." he said softly to himself. "I think I need to pay this Father Copia a visit and have a little discussion with him."

***

Father Copia was tired. He hadn't slept at all, thoughts plagued by that glimpse he had scene of the Satanic rock star in his tour bus. His masked band had been unnerving but they were nothing compared to the staggering range of emotions that had flooded him when he had locked eyes with that man. Those eyes, so uneven and wrong, had thrown him into a bit of a spiritual crisis. He had felt fear in that moment, but he had also felt a stab of lust like he had never experienced before in his entire life. It was utterly disarming and deeply confusing. He'd had similar thoughts in Seminary, nothing even half as intense, but sometimes he knew his eyes lingered too long on a fellow priest in training and he felt riddled with shame. In the end his love and devotion to God had saved him. He poured all of his emotions into that drive and soon found the feelings had faded away. Yet yesterday, at that accursed protest he had been forced to attend, they had all come rushing back like a tsunami onto a helpless, unaware village. Copia had spent the night on his knees, bent over a rosary, looking for guidance and redemption. 

That morning's mass had been sparsely attended and he knew he had just been going through the motions. The church was empty now. Even the sisters who worked there had gone for the afternoon. It was confessional hours and he sat in his side of the booth, fanning himself against the midday heat and fighting to stay awake. Copia tried to keep his thoughts positive but found himself failing. His church had been dying for some time, the younger generation abandoning it completely and the older generation dying off. At some point, probably sooner than he would like, he knew he'd be recalled by the Cardinal and reassigned. He sighed. 

"Send me just one person today," he said, looking up at the wooden confessional ceiling. "I beseech you, if you are listening, even just one person who can use me today." 

Copia nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the church doors open. Did prayers get answered that fast? He sucked in a breath as he heard footsteps on the well worn stone floor. They were coming right towards him. Copia sat there in shock as the other confessional door was opened and someone slid inside. The door closed with a little click and both sat there for a moment, silent. 

"Um," Copia ventured first. "Do you seek confession, my child?"

The other person laughed a little. "I suppose I do." It was a male voice, clear and yet laced with... something else. Copia's brain scrambled for a word to describe the timbre of his voice and his gray matter unhelpfully settled on "seductive". He gulped, staring wide eyed at the fine mesh grate separating the booths. The man was in shadow and Copia could not make out the details of his face, but his profile showed a proud nose and long hair. He spoke again, voice still holding unreleased laughter. "It's been a very long time since I've done this."

"That's all right," Copia said. Ahh, this was familiar territory. A wayward lamb wandering back to the flock. A soul to be unburdened. This he could handle. "Do you remember how to begin? "Bless me father, for I have sinned"?" he prompted.

"Is that it? I thought it was "Forgive me daddy, I've been naughty"." 

Copia nearly choked and covered his shock with what he hoped was a discrete cough. 

"Er. No. Not quite." 

"Shame." the man said, a smile evident in his voice.

Copia decided to plow ahead instead, hoping this wasn't someone playing a joke on him. 

"What can I help you with, my son?" he asked. The man was quiet for a moment. 

"Well, how much time do you have, father?" Copia laughed at the little joke, used to it by now. 

"As much time as you need, my son. I am yours." 

"Mmmm, I hope so." the man said, almost purring, and Copia felt his face grow hot. 

"Your sins?" he prompted, hands knotting together in his lap. 

"I have been lustful, " he said, taking clear joy in the word. He drew it out, caressing it like a lover. Copia let out a squeak. He tried to cover it with another cough. The man went on. "I have laid with many women, uncountable numbers of women, taking their virginity as easily as a pickpocket might take a wallet. I've fucked them until they were screaming for more, buried myself in them to the hilt so deeply that the man who pulled me out would be called the King of England. I have caressed breasts and licked pussy on every continent on this planet and I have done so in the name of Satan." 

The confessional fell quiet as Copia tried desperately to find words. He had been shocked into silence, his tongue leaden in his mouth. Lust? Satan? Oh heavenly Father above, what is happening?

The man didn't allow Copia to gather his thoughts. He waved his hand, a trick of the shadows making it look like a claw. 

"But that doesn't do it for you, does it Father?" he said, voice dark and soft as velvet. "No, what will really interest you are all the men I've taken to my bed. And to my dining room table. And my office desk." Another squeak was wrung out of Copia. "Oh, yes. Isn't that right, Father? Can't you see it already? Bent over, robes tossed over your head, and two hands on your hips holding you steady as a hard cock fucks the daylights out of you. I can see it. It's a beautiful mental picture." 

Copia sputtered, utterly besides himself. He felt like his whole body was on fire. His hands were clenched so tightly together that his knuckles had gone corpse white. 

"Who are you?" he forced out, voice thin and strained. The man moved closer to the screen and even through the mesh Copia was able to make him out. Two mismatched eyes. White and black face paint. Copia gasped. "You're that musician." 

Papa III laughed, delighted. "I'm the answer to your prayers." he said. "I am Papa Emeritus III. A pleasure to meet you, Father Copia." 

"How... how did you know my name?" he asked, stunned. 

"I have my ways. I'm so glad you're here. I so wanted to talk to you." 

"What?" Copia wondered if he was asleep somehow. This was insanity. 

"You are wasted here, Father. This church, this religion, this relic of a God, are beneath you. I am here to set you free." 

Copia stared at the man. "I don't need to be set free." 

"Oh, yes you do, my dear Father. You are so tightly imprisoned you can not even see your chains. I can see the scars within you. I can see that you're lost without me."

***

The priest was deliciously confused and Papa III relished it. He could already feel the spark of arousal in him, curiosity slowly starting to catch fire in his soul. All Papa III had to do was turn that little ember into a raging inferno. He hated the grate between them. He had forgotten about those. Even still, he could make out the man through the metal. He had leaned forward a little, his eyes wide as dinner plates, his cheeks flushed. Gingers, even dark ones like the priest, pinked up so beautifully. Papa III couldn't wait to see how well his flesh took to other abuses. He'd bet money that Copia bruised gorgeously. That was for later, though. For now, he had some convincing to do. This was one soul he dearly wanted to win. 

"My darling priest," he said, letting the words roll around his mouth like fine wine, "surely you can tell you aren't right for this life. Surely you already have doubts." 

The priest sucked in a breath like he'd been struck. "My faith is strong." he said. 

"Oh, it is, Copia. It is very strong. It's just misplaced." 

There was a pause. "Misplaced?" 

"Can't you see? Don't you feel it? This God cares nothing for you. He cares nothing for anyone. But there is one who does care."

Copia scoffed. "Don't say what I think you're going to say."

"And why not? Satan is just as valid. History is written by the winners and that goes for holy texts too. Your Bible is full of lies told by a God who is vindictive and cruel and selfish. He cast out Satan at the first sign of disobedience. Despite all that, Satan rallied. He grew his own flock and gathered his own faithful. He doesn't demand a life of self-denial and scrimping and begging. He asks that his children act with free will, that they indulge in pleasures that bring them joy and make them happy. Don't you want to be happy, father?"

"I am happy, thank you," Copia said primly. "I will not allow such blasphemy in my church. This is a sacred, consecrated place. It is holy." 

Papa III laughed. "I know. I'm amazed I didn't burst into flames walking across the threshold." Copia made another of his noises, part outrage and part shock. "But there, you see, Satan takes care of me. Does your God?"

"Of course He does." Copia replied sharply. 

"Oh, my darling one, of course he doesn't. If he did, wouldn't he want you to be happy? Why would he torture you with desires you can never touch? An itch you can never scratch? Let me guess, you sat up all night having an existential crisis, didn't you?" The priest's silence spoke volumes and Papa III kept talking, tone cloying and seductive. "It's a shame for such beauty to rot away in a tomb like this. Here you are just a simple priest. I see greatness in you, Copia. You could even be a Cardinal one day."

Copia laughed at that but Papa III didn't let that deter him. 

"Oh Copia. You have no idea what you are missing. Don't you want to experience everything you can out of life? Don't you want to know what it feels like?" 

Copia remained silent but Papa III knew he had found a gap in his armor. He had his in. This damnable screen though! If it wasn't there he'd already be kissing the man, pulling him close against him, hands roaming his body. He nearly had him in the palm of his hand. Enough of this chaste shadowplay. Papa III stood up, walked out of his booth, and pulled the door open on Copia's. His priest stared at him like an animal caught in a snare, wanting to flee but trapped. 

"Hello father." he said with a grin.

***

Copia barely managed not to shout when the door to his confessional was wrenched open. The man's words swam in his head like clothes in a tumble dryer, whirling and spinning. Copia hated to admit that he made sense. He had felt bored and lonely and unfulfilled for so long. They were emotions and thoughts he never gave voice to, things mulled over and obsessed with at 3am in the dark. Yet this man had seen through him as if Copia was made of glass. It was alarming. 

The man, Papa Emeritus, stood in the entryway, ringed in shadows. He was beautiful up close. It was so easy to fall into his eyes, to watch the movement of his sleek black hair, to admire the tight cut of his suit. That last thought brought blood rushing to Copia's face again. Despite the odd face paint, the man was almost painfully handsome and the smile he gave him melted his insides. 

"You can't do that." Copia said, desperately. "You aren't supposed to open the door while confessing." 

Papa III laughed. "I have nothing to confess. I revel in my sins." He looked Copia over, like a wolf looks at a lamb that had gotten lost from it's herd. "Lucifer below, but you are beautiful." 

Copia blinked, taking that in. His brain tried to make sense of it. There was no way he had just called him, plain ordinary old Copia, beautiful. The look Papa III gave him was equal admiration and hunger. If possible, he blushed harder, the very tips of his ears turning scarlet. Papa III knelt before him in one fluid motion, face tilted up to watch him. 

"So beautiful and you have no idea." he murmured, strong hands landing on Copia's knees, his thumbs tracing languid circles that Copia could feel all the way in his scalp. His body felt like it had been touched by a live wire. It was electric and took his breath away. 

Copia tried to find speech but his brain had abandoned him. Papa III smiled impishly. 

"You know I'm right, Copia." He said. "Your brain might not know it yet but your body does. My words are resonating in your bone marrow and your sinew. Your tendons can feel their truth. Your heart is pounding because it knows it's close to being unbound. Oh, my beautiful one, let me in." 

Father Copia gasped as Papa III began to gather his robes and push them up around his hips. He didn't stop him, his hands breaking apart to press against each side of the confessional walls. Bracing himself for what was to come. Papa III was right. His brain hadn't yet figured out what was going on but his body had been clearly won over. He stared down at the bulge in his pants in a heady mixture of shock and shame. Papa III's hands slid up his thighs agonizingly slowly, eyes trained on that one betraying part of his anatomy. Copia bit back a noise as Papa III undid his trousers, his hard cock springing free. It looked obscene, red and leaking, but Papa III looked at it like it was a glass of water held out to a dying man lost in the desert. 

His mismatched eyes flicked up to meet Copia's as his mouth descended on his cock. Copia gasped at the illicit sensation of wet heat that enveloped him. He keened low, head falling back as Papa III began to blow him. The man's tongue was sin incarnate, doing things Copia couldn't even begin to describe. He moaned, moving his head back up to stare down at the gorgeous man between his legs. Papa III worked him like he had been given an instruction manual to every single one of Copia's buttons. He had never felt pleasure this intense before and couldn't do anything to stop the sounds and moans pouring out of his mouth. 

"Oh God. Oh my heavenly Father, yes, oh God, please." he begged, one hand falling away from the confessional wall and finding purchase in the dark silk of Papa III's hair. Papa III moaned around his cock, making Copia groan in response. He pulled on his hair, Papa III's eyes shooting up to look at him. Copia didn't even register the pleased look Papa III gave him. He was searching desperately for something he barely had a name for, his body shuddering as it hunted for release. He cried out as Papa III took him deeper, his cock hitting the back of his throat. He panted, desperation growing, his hand fisting in Papa III's hair as something huge eluded him. He felt like he was standing on the very edge of a cliff, tension building in the base of his spine. 

An idea came to him, absurd and dangerous yet so bizarrely right. He sighed, breath hitching, desire and lust eating away at any arguments he had left. What would happen if he prayed to another? The "oh gods" tumbling out of his mouth stopped. Papa III did something deliciously unspeakable to him and his eyes rolled back in his head. 

"Sweet Lucifer!" Copia cried out, feeling like he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. It arced through his body, starting from his toes and barreling up through his entire body. He screamed as he came down Papa III's throat, the sound echoing in the empty church. Papa III swallowed him, not letting a single drop escape. Copia gasped, body slumping back against the confessional booth wall, his hand falling away from Papa III's hair. 

Papa III gently put him back in order, placing a kiss on the nearby wrist that had so delightfully pulled his hair. Copia watched him, dazed. 

"You believe me now, don't you, my sweet one?" he said, still on his knees before him. 

"I... I do." Copia managed to say. Papa III chuckled and stood, leaning over and kissing Copia's cheek. 

"Good. We'll be waiting for you, father." he whispered in his ear, smiling rakishly at him again before turning and walking away. 

Copia didn't know how long he sat there, stunned. He pinched himself to make sure that had been real. He slowly got up and walked out of the booth, a changed man. He looked around his empty church, at the dust on the tapestries and the bank of unlit candles, and felt oddly cold. This was no longer a place for him. A pair of glittering eyes looked at him from a corner, a rat watching him go. 

There was new knowledge bubbling in his mind, places he had to go and things he had to do. So much of it didn't make sense yet but he had one singular focus to hold onto. He went up to his tiny, humble room and began to pack. 

There was an abbey in Sweden that was expecting him.


End file.
